[center][sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDAIwMvFcXQ]The Light's My Shepherd[/url]
[i]Psalm 23[/i][/sub][/center]
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	A voice, calm and professional, a voice that bespoke of experience and one that sounded far from home reached out to Rowena as she was in the midst of setting a man's shoulder back into place. She didn't bother turning around to look at the voice, trusting that they would set out do what they had promised. Instead, she raised her own voice slightly higher in the hymn, singing [color=cornflowerblue][i]"Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, yet will I fear no ill,"[/i][/color] in response with a resounding [i]crack[/i] as she righted the man's shoulder.

	As she moved from body to body, she noted with some satisfaction and comfort the other voices that had begun to join her in the hymns, clinging to their spiritual bastions in this dark moment. Their voices were like newborn lambs, wobbling and shaking, but growing stronger with every note and with every voice that joined their impromptu choir. A few of the more able bodied passengers even approached the young acolyte, offering to help in whatever capacity they could. She had the most collected among them help with the more delicate operations, a few to collect supplies such as clean cloth, thread, sturdy pieces of scrap, and other things of that nature, but with most of the others Rowena sent them out to offer whatever comfort they could provide to those who were more suffering in mind and soul rather than in flesh and bone.

	Her work quickly took her outside the carriage, helping those who were unfortunate enough to be thrown out of the, apparently, two carraiges that had turned over. It is there another odd voice found her, this time her hands occupied in stiching together a woman who had the poor luck to have a large diagonal gash almost across the entirety of her tricep. This time the voice was stern, cool, carrying itself with the grace of age. His words made him out to be another member of the church, which only prompted Rowena to quickly and eagerly finish the operation with a final knot before leaving the patient in the quiet care of her husband. 

	Rowena retrieved her weaponry from the ground where they rested and rose to face the voice of man who looked to be no older than fifty dressed in the garb of a holy Investigator. She quickly gave a small bow in deference, wiping her hands on a black cossack that was already marred with blood, the red tabard with its white flame adorning her front similarly painted. [color=cornflowerblue]"Unfortunately no, Father, I was out of sorts during the actual crash,"[/color] she replied, her voice soft yet still strong. [color=cornflowerblue]"All I know is that one moment we were well on our way, the next I found myself lying down on what was formerly the wall of my carriage. Ah, but forgive me for my poor manners, I am not yet a Sister, but a novice that still has to fully take all my vows. Rowena of Roekirk, at your service."[/color]

	As engrossed as she was in her efforts, she gave little thought to those who lay in the other carriages seeing as how many of them were still firmly placed on the steel tracks which admittedly filled her with some amount of shame. [color=cornflowerblue]"Is everyone towards the front alright? I'm hoping most of the worst injuries are located here, but I should set up a station towards the center if there are any that require aid in the other carriages."[/color]